Broken Juliet
by XxTwistedThornxX
Summary: Anders ran adoring fingers through her hair, fighting the feeling of guilt with the pure pleasure of holding her in his arms again. "No one has to know," he whispered. "It will be our secret." Our secret… When Hawke is killed by the Arishok, Anders will stop at nothing to bring her back. Rated M for dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

**The prompt for this was: Dearest anons, I am going through some shit, to put it briefly.  
I am in need of a nice, long cry, but I can't do it by myself.  
Please, can some beautiful a!anon write me a tearjerker of a fill. Pull out all the stops here, I want my heart to break when I'm reading. I want to feel hopeless and helpless and full of despair.  
I'm a big one for the star-crossed lovers, but by no means is that the only kind of story that will make me cry.  
I must also admit, I have a huge soft spot for Anders, but he's the center of a lot of tragic!fills, and if a lovely a!anon who considers filling this prompt would like to write a story around someone else, I will not complain in the slightest.  
I am pretty much all for anything any anon would like to write, as long as it is full of the sads. All that I ask is that there is no non-con or dub-con material involved, because that stuff is triggering.  
Thanks, k!meme. 3**

**BE WARNED: THERE IS CHARACTER DEATH IN THIS STORY.**

"No!"

His voice was shrill and panicked, so foreign to his own ears that he didn't believe it had come from his lips. He wasn't even aware that he lunged forward until the hands of Aveline and Sebastian dug into his robes and yanked him back to the sidelines. He struggled against their hold; his eyes locked on the rivulets of crimson dripping from the Arishok's blade. "No, please!" Anders continued to scream, feeling hot tears trickle down his cheeks.

The Qunari leader roared his triumph, lifting his sword high into the air. Sable Hawke, still impaled, slid sickeningly down the blade until she hung limply against the hilt. The Arishok smirked at his men, stuck the point of his sword against the ground and used his foot to push the woman off. A sick _schluck _could be heard as the steel was removed from her abdomen and a thick puddle of blood began to ooze out under her.

When he was 15, Anders had tried to escape the Circle of Magi by swimming across Lake Calenhad. It had been early winter and when he plunged into the water the artic waves had shocked him into a stupor. Cold was the only sensation he'd known at that moment. It seeped into his flesh, muscle and bone. It made him believe that the warm kiss of the sun was only a myth.

Standing there, staring at the lifeless form of his lover, Anders thought himself in that lake once more.

He was trembling—shivering? Coldness enveloped him like it had done so many years ago. His blood froze in his veins and with a heart-broken cry, Anders summoned all the magic he and Justice possessed and unleashed a torrent of lightning at the Arishok.

It appeared to be the signal the others needed. Fenris dashed into a hoard of Qunari with a roar and Aveline bashed the nearest enemy with her shield. Isabela disappeared into the shadows and Anders decided that if she were running away again, he'd hunt her down next. But, she reappeared behind the Arishok—still stunned from the burst of electricity—and thrust her daggers into his back. Merrill, Varric and Sebastian bombarded the army with arrows and spells, covering Anders as he ran to their fallen leader and dropped to his knees beside her.

"Sable," he abandoned his staff and turned her onto her back, blanching when he saw the large gash running from her sternum to her stomach. "It's ok, I'm here. Everything is going to be ok." Anders poured all his remaining energy into his most powerful healing spell, praying for the Maker to show him mercy.

_Once. Just this once._

"_Open your eyes_," he whispered, watching her sun-kissed flesh knit together and heal before his eyes. "Please, love, please. For me," Even when her wound was completely closed, Anders refused to stop the incantation. Her blood seeped into his robes, hot and sticky.

His stomach clenched as he became aware that the fighting had stopped. The rest of the group was standing behind him, watching and waiting.

The rest of his mana drained out of him. Anders caught himself on his hands as he tumbled forward, a defeated sob wrenching itself from his throat. He pounded his fists against the floor, splashing and coating himself with Sable's blood.

"No, you can't be dead, please!" He grabbed her limp body, lifting her and holding her tight against his chest as he sobbed. "Damn you! You're alright, you have to be alright! Wake up!"

"Anders…" Aveline took a step forward but stopped dead in her tracks as Anders's head whipped around to glare at her, the blue glow of the fade lighting his eyes.

"Keep away!" He ordered, his voice was dark and distorted, the voice of Justice overlapping his own. He bared his teeth, his malicious gaze shifting to Isabela. "This is your doing! She should have just let him have you!"

Isabela frowned, wrapping her arms around her midsection and focusing on Sable.

"I should kill you!" Anders roared, reaching for his staff. Fenris was behind him in an instant, bashing the pommel of his sword into the back of Anders's head. The mage cried out and fell, still clutching Sable tightly to his chest. He worked to get back to his knees, but his head was spinning and Fenris kicked him to lay flat on his back. He rested the edge of his blade to Anders's neck with a feral scowl.

Anders growled, an inhuman sound, eyes flashing a brilliant blue to match the lyrium flowing through the elf's skin as he lay in the puddle of blood.

"Wait, Fenris!" Sebastian grabbed his arms, stopping Fenris from pulling his sword along the mage's throat.

"Get off of me," Fenris barked. "He'll kill us all if he gets the chance."

"A man's grief is not something he should be punished for!" Sebastian looked down to Anders and Sable with a pained frown. "Our first priority should be seeing Hawke's soul to the Maker."

Fenris stood motionless for a few moments, clenched his jaw, and pulled the sword away. He turned and stalked out of the Viscount's keep, pushing past the shocked citizens that were still too frightened to leave.

Sebastian watched him go before turning to Anders.

The glow had faded from the apostate's eyes. His somber gaze was focused on the woman in his arms, brushing a stray curl from her face. His fingers caressed her cheek. She'd been so alive and beautiful that morning, even as she screamed at him.

As Sebastian began a prayer, Merrill wailed in Isabela's arms and Aveline began directing people out of the keep. Anders felt guilt overwhelm him, gripping his heart with the might of an ogre. He couldn't even remember how their argument started only that it'd been over something small. She could be hot-headed at times, snapping at him over minor offenses and he—tired from lack of sleep and stress—would fight back with vigor. She would usually come to him within a few hours or he'd give her a day to cool off before apologizing for whatever had upset her.

Now, there would be no sweet "I'm sorry," no forgiving kisses or caresses.

She was gone.

"I'm sorry, love," He whispered, kissing her brow. "I'm so sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

_The Blooming Rose was a place Anders would have often visited in his youth. The women were beautiful and willing to do anything—even apostates—as long as the price was right. But, as Anders sat on the feathered bed, he grimaced. So many mages were in Kirkwall fleeing the Blight, most of them ended up in Darktown or the Gallows, but Lirene had told him a very disturbing rumor._

_A young apostate known only as "Mink" was here in the brothel and word was spreading fast. It was only a matter of time before Templars caught wind of it and pulled her out kicking and screaming. He knew he had to get her out of there first, even if it meant losing the donations he'd saved over the year._

_Who was he to put a price on a life?_

_The door clicked behind him and Anders tried to find the words to convince the woman to follow. He stood and squared his aching shoulders, turning to face the courtesan stepping over the threshold._

_Her ebony curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing her soft face and resting atop the swell of her breasts and red-silk corset. Her lips were painted crimson petals against her caramel skin and dark shadow accented ice-blue eyes that widened in horror when she saw him._

_"You?"_

_Her voice shattered through the makeup, striking Anders with sudden realization. He gaped, eyes trailing over her in disbelief before snapping to meet her mortified stare._

_"__**Hawke**__?"_

_Sable Hawke spun on her heel and grabbed at the door. Anders lunged forward and caught her wrist._

_"Wait!"_

_"What are you __**doing**__here?" She cried, yanking her arm out of his hold and turning on him like a trapped animal._

_"I could ask you the same," Anders shook his head in bewilderment. Sable wrapped her arms around her middle and looked away. Silence stretched between them, allowing the gravity of the situation to fully sink in._

_"What are you doing here?" Sable asked again. Her voice was so soft that Anders had to strain to hear her. When he didn't answer right away, she lifted an accusing stare to meet him. Anders realized how he must look, waiting in a private room in a brothel, and sputtered. His cheeks and ears turned red._

_"I heard a rumor of an apostate working here. I had hoped to help her—you—escape before the Templars found out."_

_"The Templars don't bother. Apostates are their favorites." Her bluntness made him cringe._

_"I…I don't know what to say," He admitted after a few moments. "I just can't believe that…I mean…I never thought to find __**you **__here."_

_Sable only nodded, her eyes softening a fraction._

_"You're 'Mink'?"_

_Sable opened her mouth to speak, but her face contorted into a pained expression and her legs gave out beneath her. Anders gasped and grabbed her arms, holding her upright as a sob wrenched itself from her throat._

_Her nails dug into his robes. Her tears left black trails of eye-makeup down her cheeks. Anders stood there, stunned, allowing the woman to sob into his chest. He hesitantly removed his hands from her arms to embrace her, frowning as her shoulders seemed to heave with more force at the contact._

_"Please…Please don't tell the others," she pleaded. "There was nothing else I could do—no one that would hire me. It was only supposed to be for a while but…Please don't…don't…"_

_"I won't tell anyone," Anders promised, stroking her dark hair and catching the faint scent of lavender in its waves. He held her until she stopped crying, letting her pour out the shame and embarrassment she must have been feeling until the weight was lifted. He wiped the dark streaks from her cheeks with his thumbs and made her look at him. "You did what you had to do, Hawke, there is nothing wrong with that," he assured her, "No one else has to know. It will be our secret."_

_"Our secret," Sable repeated softly, closing her eyes for a moment as she collected herself. When she opened them, Anders found himself locked in her stare. Unable to move, unable to breathe, he was drawn in to the wintery depths. He was chilled to the bone by her gaze, yet the heat of the sun erupted from her flesh and seeped into his palms._

_The warmth of her skin became a permanent brand on his hands from that moment on._

* * *

Anders stared at his palms in the dim light of the clinic. They tingled and itched, the way they always did when he longed to run his fingers through Sable's hair or gently pet her awake in the early morning. Except, he didn't feel the familiar warmth of her flesh, nor did he see the stark contrast of his skin against hers.

He saw blood, deep, red, and wet. It coated his hands from fingertips to wrists and droplets snaked to his elbows.

He had spent days sitting on the edge of his old cot, watching the crimson stream leak further and further down his arms. At first he had tried to wash it away but the water only added to it, causing his arms to be fully coated with the substance.

When was the last time he'd slept? Eaten? He couldn't remember.

_Sable would kill me if she saw me like this._

A manic cackle bubbled over his lips and he covered his eyes with blood-stained hands. Yes, Sable would kill him, if she weren't already resting in the crypt beneath the city.

Was she treated well? Did they dress her in silk or in armor to show her sacrifice? Did they braid flowers into her hair or leave the ebony waves to reach for the cold, stone floor?

_I don't know. I didn't go to the funeral._

Sable had been a distraction, Justice whispered in the back of his mind. Now he was free of her, free to carry on his fight for the mages. He chastised the apostate for his lack of motivation. At one time, all the mages of Thedas had been his focus. He would think of the young children ripped from their mothers' arms, the husbands, the wives taken away in the night. They had been the driving force behind his ambitions, but had been replaced overnight by one woman.

Anders flopped onto his back, pulling his hands away to stare at the cracked ceiling. He swore to make the world a better place for them. He promised Sable the sun and the stars, everything he couldn't give her as an apostate but would as a free man.

He was never known for keeping promises.

* * *

_"Where is she?" Sable grabbed the young man by his neck, forcing him against the side of a building. Fire engulfed her hand and she brought it dangerously close to the urchin's face. Her skin glowed menacingly in the roaring light, giving her a ferocious countenance that rivaled any rage demon._

_"Are you mad, girl?" Gamlen shouted, frantically checking the dark streets of Lowtown for any sign of the guard. The urchin squealed, his voice raising a few octaves as he tried to squirm away from the fire licking his cheeks._

_Anders watched as Sable's panic grew. Her entire frame trembled and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. The blaze surrounding her hand wavered out of control for a moment as her emotions overwhelmed her._

_"Where is the bastard that took my mother? Tell me, or I'll send you to the Void to wait for him!"_

_The boy tried to answer, but Sable's grip around his throat had grown too tight. He choked and sputtered. Tears leaked down his cheeks but evaporated in the heat of the fire, his dirty skin turned a deep red as it began to burn._

_Fenris moved to intervene, but Anders shook his head and stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Sable's arm and pulling it to her side._

_"That's enough," he said softly, "You won't get any information out of him if he's dead."_

_Sable whirled around to face him, dropping the urchin without another thought. She didn't notice as he ran away, blubbering pathetically with Gamlen yelling and chasing after him. Her glare was focused on Anders, cold and hateful, and she gave him a rough shove to his chest that sent him stumbling backwards._

_"Don't talk to me!" She shrieked, pushing him again. Anders recovered quickly and grabbed her upper-arms as she began pummeling her fists into his chest. "This is your fault! If you hadn't asked me to come with you today, I could've kept an eye on her!" She sobbed and continued to hit him, each blow weaker than the last. "You bastard, I hate you! I hate you…I…"_

_Anders released her arms when she gripped the front of his robes, burying her face in the fabric. He wrapped his arms around her and gave a reassuring squeeze._

_"We __**will**__ find your mother, love."_

_"How do you know? It might already be too late, what if she's dead?"_

_Anders put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her a step away._

_"It's not too late. She has you searching for her, she knows you'll save her and she will survive until you do."_

_Sable wiped her eyes and met his amber stare. Her faced hardened, her tears were forgotten as quickly as they had fallen._

_"Promise me."_

_"I promise."_

_In the distance, her mabari howled. Sable quickly turned her head to the noise._

_"Jericho…he's found something!" She slipped from Anders's hold and ran for her hound, leaving Fenris and Anders to chase after her. As they raced through the streets, Fenris turned his mossy glare to Anders._

_"You shouldn't make empty promises, abomination. It will only make things harder if you're wrong."_

_Anders scowled and narrowed his eyes at the elf, keeping his voice low so their conversation wouldn't travel to Sable's ears._

_"I won't let her give up hope."_

_"It will break her heart in the end."_

_"Well, you'd know all about __**that**__, wouldn't you? Words of wisdom from the expert himself, boy, am I honored!" Anders scoffed. Fenris sneered, his sharp gauntlets curled tighter into his palms, but he was silent._

_As Jericho came into view, his nose was pressed to the street, whimpering and pawing at the dust on the road. Sable halted in front of him and gasped, covering her mouth and taking a few steps back._

_"__**Blood**__."_

_Anders and Fenris moved to her side, following the scarlet trail with their eyes._

_"It leads to the docks," Anders frowned._

_"It's not…it can't be mother's, can it? Jericho?"_

_The mabari glanced up at his mistress, sniffed the puddle again and growled with a fierce shake of his head. Sable visibly relaxed, breathing a shaky sigh of relief._

_"Let's hurry. Mother is still waiting."_

* * *

_Anders sighed, closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss against Sable's hair. She hadn't spoken for three days, not since she watched her mother's mutilated body shuffle toward her. Sometimes she would cry, limp in his arms or beating her fists against his shoulders. He would hold her patiently, whispering into her ear until she cried herself into a nightmare-ridden sleep of blood mages and shambling corpses with a loved one's face._

_The apostate caressed her cheek, gently petting her awake in the morning light. Sable frowned, meeting Anders's kind stare with dark circles under her eyes._

_"Come on, love," Anders coaxed. "I'm going to ask Orana to cook you some breakfast, please try to eat some of it today." He stood but Sable grabbed his hand before he could take a step. Anders looked down at the woman clinging to his arm. Her eyes were desperate, her plump lower lip pulled between her teeth. When she tugged on his hand, Anders sat back down on the edge of the bed._

_Sable's stare was transfixed on the light bruises dotting his shoulders. She lowered her gaze in shame before throwing her arms around his neck. Anders embraced her without hesitation, sighing sadly as Sable's tears wet his shoulder._

_"Don't leave me," she begged, "Don't ever leave me."_

_"Never, love. You don't have to worry about that," Anders assured her, tangling his fingers in her hair._

_"I'm all alone and it's my fault, I can't lose you too!"_

_"Quiet now, that will never happen."_

_"Promise me," she whispered. "Even if I scream at you…even if I hit you… please, promise you'll never leave me."_

_"I promise."_

**_You shouldn't make empty promises, abomination._**

_Anders forced the elf's voice away, pressing a soft kiss to Sable's cherry lips. He continued to hold her, sighing as she placed several kisses along his jaw before nestling against his chest._

_In truth, he hadn't been able to drive the image of Leandra from his mind, and suffered nightmares just as Sable had. He could still see the woman dressed in the tattered wedding gown. Her skin had been sewn together like a child's oldest and most cherished doll, lips blue and eyes dull as she stumbled toward her daughter with arms outstretched._

_The blood mage, Quentin, claimed that he was only trying to get his wife back. He had been driven by grief and had slaved for years to perfect his wife's new body._

_As Anders once again kissed the woman in his arms, he asked himself the question that no doubt plagued Quentin's mind before his experiments._

_Just how far was he willing to go for love?_


	3. Chapter 3

With each step he took, Anders felt more and more uneasy. He raised his staff higher, a small ball of light glowing at the top to guide his way. The catacombs were several levels below Darktown. Several levels darker, dirtier and—if it were even possible—fouler. Mountains of skulls lined the walls and the smell of death and decay was overwhelming. A faint sound of dripping water echoed through the tunnels, accompanied by the scurrying feet of rats as they searched for something to feast on.

Bile rose in his throat as he imagined Sable tossed carelessly onto a pile of common corpses, bodies piled on top of her with rats gnawing at her fingertips and toes. He shook his head swiftly, chasing the image from his mind.

The tunnel opened up into a large, circular room. Stone coffins were placed along the walls, each with magical runes etched into the sides to prevent decay, and a carved likeness of their residents—The Champions of Kirkwall. Anders raised his light to each of their faces, examining them one by one. His gaze met almond-shaped eyes, forcing the breath from his lungs.

Carved in soft marble, Sable stood sentry over her coffin. A bloodied Qunari sword—The Arishok's, Anders realized with ice in his belly—was resting on her open palms. Her full lips were turned in a demur smile and Anders couldn't help but laugh, caressing the statue's cold cheek with his fingers.

Sable had never smiled like that for anyone.

"I'm here, love. I'm sorry it's taken me so long," His hand trailed from the statue to the coffin, pressing his palm against the smooth, white stone as though he would feel Sable's warmth radiating from the surface.

His insides twisted into knots. He reached into his robes, pulled out a battered journal and flipped it to the first page. The name _Quentin Leroux _was scrawled in red ink, surrounded by arcane symbols and diagrams.

He knew he shouldn't have returned to that murderer's lair. No one should have had to suffer what Leandra Amell did. The thought of patching together different corpses to create one walking abomination was horrifying on more levels than Anders cared to count.

_But then…_

Quentin had been forced to use many bodies, each preserved for years until the right specimens became available to his cause. Anders only had the one encased in stone before him, but it was all he would need.

_I can do it…I can…No, this is wrong!_

Anders slammed the journal shut, the yellow pages spitting a cloud of dust into the air. He dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against the coffin, taking a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," he murmured, "I'm sorry, but I just…" Anders fisted his hand tightly around his staff, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut in shame. "I just can't go on like this!"

The spell erupted before he had time to control himself, shattering all the coffins in the tomb to rubble. Anders coughed, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve and squinting through the marble-dust filling the air.

Sable's arm dangled out from the wreckage and Anders rushed to uncover her, pulling her from the stone and wiping the dust from her face. Her skin was pale but she looked no different than when she had woken up beside him last week.

Anders ran adoring fingers through her hair, fighting the feeling of guilt with the pure pleasure of holding her in his arms again.

"No one has to know," he whispered. "It will be our secret."

_Our secret…_


	4. Chapter 4

This place had haunted Sable's dreams for weeks, and the cruel irony was not lost on Anders as he made his way through the dimly lit hall. Many of Quentin's old belongings were scattered across the floor and scorch marks from their battle still marred the walls. The bodies, at least, had long since been moved out.

"I'm sorry about this. I wouldn't bring you here if there were any other choice," Anders carefully placed Sable down on the old bed in the back room, resting her on top of the grey, moth-eaten sheets. "I couldn't bring you back to my clinic, and your uncle has since weaseled his way into your estate. But, you'll be safe here. No one will find us."

Carefully, he brushed a stray hair from her face. She was still so beautiful, perfect. But, Anders feared that one touch, one misplaced breath, would cause her to shatter.

"I…I know I can do this," He assured her, reaching into his robes to retrieve the journal. "Everything will be alright."

He flipped through the yellow pages until he found the ritual—one of the last entries scribbled into the battered book. After he read it over several times, Anders glanced around the room to assure himself that he had all the materials required. Candles were already encircling the bed, the appropriate symbols were painted on the floor (in what Anders could recognize as blood, even before he read the passage), and a silver dagger was set on the nightstand.

He grabbed the blade and felt its weight. It was heavier than he had thought, but he could feel power radiating from the razor-edge. Anders gripped it tightly and moved to Sable's side, ignoring the nagging in the back of his mind.

_This is wrong…I should bring her back…I need to bring her back…I need…I need her back._

Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve, Anders rolled up his sleeve and slid the blade along his arm. He only grunted as the steel sliced his flesh. He watched intently as blood welled up and dribbled out from the cut. He closed the distance between him and Sable, blood dripped onto his boots and the floor as he moved.

Anders apologized under his breath, flipping the knife in his hand and hovering over the woman on the bed. His stomach churned, but he assured himself it would be worth it in the end. With gritted teeth, Anders plunged the dagger into Sable's heart. He spoke the words written in the journal, his blood slithered through the air and wormed into her wound.

It was as though her drained body were sucking the life straight out of him. Anders braced himself against the bed, struggled to keep his breath, and then felt it leave him in a violent rush as Sable's eyes fluttered open.

The sapping feeling ceased. The hole in Sable's chest knitted together and Anders scrambled, cupping his love's cheek in his palm. Relieved sobs shook his chest when his eyes met hers. She didn't seem to see him.

"Sable, sweetheart, can you hear me?" Anders ran his fingers through her hair but she didn't respond. "Love?"

He moved his fingers to her neck, felt her pulse thrumming along. Her chest rose and fell with even breaths, but she stared straight ahead. Not blinking, not speaking. Like a doll.

Anders stepped back, tangled his hands in his hair and growled.

"No! No, this isn't right!"

He had followed the ritual, said the spell. Why was she unresponsive?

Anders shook his head, grabbed the journal, flipped the page to read the last half of the ritual and paused. A good portion of the ritual had been scratched out and hasty scribbles underneath described the last preparations he would need to make. The mage felt his mouth turn dry.

Blood had been given to give her life. Her heart was pumping, she was breathing, but all he had managed was an empty shell. Sable needed a soul—her soul or else she wouldn't be the same. He needed lyrium to get into the fade and a soul to replace the one he'd be taking.

A sacrifice.

Could he do it? He had already come so far, crossed a line he swore he'd never tread. He could feel Justice roaring inside of him, his presence defiled and more perverted than he had been before. Anders apologized softly to his old friend and begged his understanding, though he knew a spirit couldn't possibly understand the force that drove him.

There was no turning back, not now. Anders gently caressed Sable's cheek, pressed a soft kiss to her pliant lips, and promised to be back soon. He left the lair quickly, tucking the battered journal into his robes as he traversed the musty tunnels.

He didn't doubt that he could find Sable's soul in the fade. He was positive that the bond they had shared in life would help him locate her. It was the journey that made him tense with anxiety.

_How will I get my hands on enough Lyrium?_


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris stood motionless, slowly regarding the room full of rubble with incredulous eyes. He knew the crypt hadn't been in this state when he'd left it just a few days prior. All the coffins were nothing but pebbles on the ground, with quickly decaying body parts sticking out from the wreckage and most of the statues were unrecognizable.

The elf slowly approached the newest addition, gently running the clawed tip of his gauntlet along the crack in the woman's face. His heart beat shallowly as he searched for any sign of Sable's body in the ruins of her coffin. It almost stopped completely when he found none.

Rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach and spread through his veins at the thought of a grave-robber defiling Sable Hawke's tomb with his unworthy hands. Why would someone have done this? For coin? To make a statement? And what had they done with the body?

The air crackled with magic and Fenris stiffened. It would be a mage to steal her away—it seemed to be a talent of theirs. She would be the perfect specimen for a would-be blood mage to turn into a thrall—powerful, resourceful…beautiful.

Fenris stormed out of the crypt with fire burning behind his eyes. He would find whoever desecrated that tomb and rip their beating heart out. He would hold it in front of them while they died so they could see the kind of pain their actions inflicted. Then he would crush it, right as their dying breath left their lips.

But, he needed to find them fast, before any damage they might've done to Sable's body became permanent.

Fenris stepped out from the Undercity and took a breath of fresh air, trying to cool his blood. Once he had calmed enough to quell the shaking in his limbs, the elf turned for Darktown.

He was looking for an apostate, that much was absolutely certain. And as much as he was loath to admit it, Fenris knew just the man to ask about the movements of illegal mages in Kirkwall.

* * *

Anders cursed and closed the drawer with admittedly more force than was necessary. That couldn't be all the lyrium he had stashed away! He had stripped his clinic bare, tossed his rickety old cot, ripped apart shelves, dug through waste bins, but he had nothing more to show for his efforts but two half-filled bottles of the potion; Nowhere near enough for a ritual of this complexity.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from his face in annoyance, surveyed his destroyed clinic and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was so tired, he hadn't slept in Maker knew how long. Ever since he figured out how to bring her back, his mind grew obsessive—just as it had over his manifesto. And like when he had been so engrossed in his work, he began to feel the effects.

Without sleep, he couldn't think. If he couldn't think, Justice did the thinking for him. And if Justice started to take over, Anders knew he would never feel those eyes—those beautiful, sharp, ice-blue eyes—sear into his soul again.

He would put off the search for now. He would return to Sable, make sure her body was taken care of, and then allow himself to rest. Just getting her heart beating again had taken far too much out of his already exhausted body and he knew he was in no condition to push any further.

Anders slipped the bottles into his robes and retreated from the clinic, locked the wooden doors behind him and made sure the lantern was still doused.

_I'll need to feed her. She'll need to be strong if I'm going to make this work. Maybe find some of her old clothes laying about somewhere, can't have her walking around in a burial shroud._

Anders mentally began jotting down things he needed to keep Sable's body sustained until he could complete the ritual. So lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear when someone loomed behind him until they spoke.

"Anders," His name was spat like venom, as though it pained the voice to even pronounce it. Anders stiffened and cautiously looked over his shoulder at the visitor.

He supposed Templars would've been too much to ask.

Fenris stood stock-still, fists clenched at his sides. His sword was strapped to his back, as usual. The only inclination to its true weight was the way Fenris's knees bent to keep balance. His teeth were bared, mossy eyes dark as they took in Anders's haggard appearance with disgust.

"I'm closed. You'll have to come back later."

"I don't need your magic," Fenris scowled. Anders turned back to the door, double checking the locks and lantern just in case. "This is about Hawke."

Anders's eyes widened, but he slipped the key into his pocket and forced his voice to remain steady.

"What about her?"

"Someone destroyed the crypt," If Fenris saw Anders stiffen, he prayed the elf thought it was due to his distress over the news. "They took her with them, and the stink of magic is everywhere."

"Why do you always assume that it's a mage?" Anders asked, turning on the elf with annoyance. Fenris gave him an incredulous look.

"There was still leftover magic in the room," he clarified, then shook his head and growled, "How is my accusation of a mage the most important problem at the moment?"

Anders felt the adrenaline begin to pump through him, fear taking hold of his heart. He couldn't let Fenris find out, no one could find out. He'd promised Sable.

_It'll be our secret…Our secret…  
_  
"You're right," Anders relented, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I just…what are we going to do?"

Fenris eyed him but his shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension.

"You know about apostates moving through Kirkwall."

"Right, moving _through_ Kirkwall. All of the ones I've helped are long gone already, and I can't think of any of them that would defile a grave." Anders paused, sensing that that was not the answer the ex-slave wanted to hear.

Sure enough, Fenris scowled and turned on his heel, muttering about wasted time, and how he'd find out faster on his own.

"Al-Although!" Anders desperately called. Fenris stopped and turned to the mage, impatience etched in his face. "There was…one…a boy, he seemed a bit…off."

_Think…Think!_

"That narrows it down to nearly everyone in Darktown," Fenris sneered.

"Thomas, that was his name," Anders tried not to make it obvious how much he was talking out his arse at the moment, but he needed to keep Fenris occupied. Away from him until Sable was back in his arms. "He's about a medium height, dark hair. A-A tattoo on his left cheek."

Fenris gave him an odd frown, but nodded once.

"You're sure?"

"No, I'm not sure!" Anders shouted. "There are a lot of apostates that come through here, I can only keep tabs on so many!" He forced himself to take a breath. "But, he was strange. Liked to throw fireballs just to watch things explode, you know?"

Fenris seemed to consider this for a moment then nodded once. Anders let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. But, it was getting late. He needed to get back. Sable needed him.

"Alright, let's go." Fenris turned and began walking again.

"I can't! I-I have a patient that I need to see. A house-call," he quickly explained at Fenris's confused glance.

"I see."

Anders only nodded once and moved deeper into Darktown. A refugee woman saw him walk by and scrambled to her feet to chase after him. Her dirty hands clung to his robes and tears streaked dust down her cheeks.

"Oh, Healer! Thank the Maker it's you," she wailed. "Please, you have to help him. My brother, he's sick, been sick for the longest time! I think he might be dying, please!"

"I'm sorry. I can't. I have to go." Anders pushed her hands off of him and quickened his pace. His desperation to be out of Darktown and back by Sable's side made him deaf to the woman's haunting cries. And blind to Fenris's suspicious stare following him out.


End file.
